Sons of Dark and Light
by Tawny The Disturbed
Summary: Years after Sky High, Will was lying with his archenemy. Danger was at its peak. He knew that this kiss could be deadly to him. It was a chaotic rhythm of a metronome in the private world in which the virtuous willingly gave in to the wicked. It was the screwed up realm where sons of dark and light mix when they really shouldn't. DARK THEMES, INTENSE INTIMACY, and VIOLENCE


**Well, it was deleted some time ago. Cautiously, I'm reposting it. I enjoyed the storyline and I figured I couldn't post the sequel or prequel without reposting this as well. I do post on adultFF as well, and I probably should put everything on there anyway, like a backup in case they ever decide to snuff me. **

**So please do enjoy what some of you guys have most likely forgotten. **

* * *

Will Stronghold landed heavily on his feet in his back yard after plunging down from the dark sky. He heaved a long sigh as he straightened from his landing. He walked slowly toward the sliding glass door and slid it open. He stepped into the living room and shut the pane of glass behind him, turning the lock in place. He put a hand against the couch and brushed his dirty hair out of his eyes.

It was quiet and dark in his home.

He glanced at the answering machine on the side table next to the cobalt armchair that his parents had given him as a home-warming present a couple years ago. There was a blinking red two on the small screen. He closed his eyes and slowly leaned his head back and turned it, hearing the crack of his sore vertebrae.

He reached up to his collarbone and pulled his dirty costume from his skin with a grimace. He pulled and pried and the material fell away from his exhausted, sore body leaving him naked in his living room.

He ran his dusty palms down his face with a tired groan. He looked at the answering machine between his fingers. He stared at the blinking little digital number. He thought briefly about who might have called him. He wouldn't be surprised if it had been Layla, or Zack calling and asking if he was okay. But then wasn't sure if tonight's endeavor was on the news. He glanced at the clock hanging on the wall.

_Not likely…_he thought to himself, seeing as it was 2:43 in the morning.

He heaved a long, exhausted sigh and dragged his feet to the bathroom. He went right to the shower and turned on the heated spray at its strongest setting. He waited briefly, listening to the water splash hard at the bottom of the shower. He hoped the force would loosen the knots in his back.

Will briefly glanced over his shoulder at his reflection.

His usually lively blue eyes looked more like a gray, disappointing sky. His hair was dirty, windblown, a fair few inches too long and in need of a cut. His skin was streaked and stained with dirt, rubble, burns, ash, and blood that wasn't his own. He stared into his eyes, expecting to see his reflection offer him a gentle smile, and a comforting word that his faith in humanity shouldn't dwindle so.

But his reflection just stared back with those dying-inside eyes.

Will made himself look away and step under the spray of the shower, closing the door behind him with a weak clack. He groaned quietly, leaning against the wall of the shower, letting the water pound down onto him. It felt good. Almost like a breath of life in his midnight struggle of facing death and fighting it off to try and save lives.

He leaned his head back into the spray and combed his fingers through his hair over and over to dislodge his night's bad memories. Filthy water swirled around in circles at his feet before exiting through the drain, cleansing him, never to be seen again. Will sighed quietly through his nose, his thoughts reminding him that the water was most likely going to eventually make its way into a fresh water supply or the ocean or something where it could contaminate somebody else's life.

The hero rubbed at his eyes under the falling water. He made himself wash his hair and body as quick as his tired muscles would let him. He just wanted to be free of all of his reminding thoughts that wouldn't let the bad things leave him. And the only way he knew to have a chance at that was mind-numbing sleep. And he desperately hoped he wouldn't remember his dreams upon waking up.

Will turned off the flowing water and stepped from the shower. He draped the towel hanging from the rack over his head, knowing that he'd used it and hung it back up eight times now. He didn't have a mind to care at that moment. And he doubted he would care when it became nine times used.

His tired muscles were hardly able to dry his hair with the towel. He sleepily dragged the used, thinned out cloth across his body, for the most part at least wiping away the water and leaving him only slightly damp. He sighed quietly, eyelids hardly able to stay open. He sloppily hung the towel back up and left the bathroom, turning off the light as he went.

His feet dragged along the floor as he finally pushed his bedroom door open. His body fell to the bed, his eyes closed and his mind turned off long before he ever hit the messy, splayed sheets, blankets and pillows. Sleep pulled him heavily down into darkness finally numbing his thoughts and unknowingly he was provided the escape he had been longing for.

* * *

Will groggily opened his eyes. He blinked heavily in the sunlight. His bleary eyes felt wet. Will closed his eyes again and turned his face into his pillow, smearing the tears roughly from his face. He clenched his teeth, misery stabbing into his mind as the last fleeting moments of his dreams remained planted in his mind.

He clenched the pillow in a monstrous grip, grinding his teeth together and muffling a few choking sobs.

The image of a dark-eyed man stood firmly in his thoughts, glaring right through him. Black fire raged behind those eyes. It bloomed from his shoulders like a destructive pair of black wings, and elongated from his fingertips like claws. The red streak in his hair crossed his eye menacingly.

Will grabbed at his right hip in pain, trying to fight the last moments of his dream out of his head. A tear smeared across his lower lip as he sunk his teeth into it. He clenched his right hip in both of his hands, grunting out in pain. His heart pounded wildly in his chest. Will opened his eyes wide, seized the glass of old, warm, slightly gray water from the nightstand and dumped it on his face.

He pulled in a gasp and sat quickly up from the wet sheets. He closed his eyes and rubbed thoroughly at them, licking his lips and swallowing as he did. His heart thudded against his ribs, taking its time to slow down to a reasonable pace. Will shook out his damp hair and heaved a shuddering, stressed sigh.

He looked at his alarm clock which he realized he had failed to set the previous night. It was 12:27pm. He groaned quietly, "Shit." He shoved himself from his bed and went over to his small dresser, yanking out his last pair of clean boxers. After stepping into them, he went to the closet, pulled out a black pair of dress pants, suit jacket and a gray button-down. He pulled on the pants, doing up the belt as quick as he could with his tired muscles that were still a bit sore. He put his arms in the sleeves of the shirt and did up the buttons as he went through his house.

He stuffed his pockets with his cell phone, keys, pager, and his wallet, skipping out on eating.

Will tied on a pair of shoes and grabbed his briefcase, combing his hair back with his fingers before leaving his home, locking the door behind him. He hurried down the short path to the sidewalk where his car was parked. He unlocked the door, threw in his briefcase and climbed in behind the wheel. Once inside he slipped a pair of sunglasses onto his face. He started the vehicle, grimaced at the almost empty tank and pulled away from the sidewalk.

He had to stop at a gas station in order to even get there. He pulled his car up beside one of the many pumps, threw it in park and turned off the engine. He left his car beside the pump, pressing the lock button as he went inside to do the pay-for-your-gas-in-advance-so-you-don't-drive-away-with-a-pinched-tank-of-gas thing. He dodged around some people who were stopping for a quick pick-up lunch of junk food and stood in line for the register.

When it was finally his turn, an old woman with long white hair twisted into a braid smiled at him, "Hello, Mr. Stronghold." While digging a fifty out of his wallet Will answered with a tired mumble, "G'morning Lori."

Her smile turned apologetic as he handed her the money and said, "Pump three."

She pressed something into the cash register and commented, "Running a little late today?"

Will nodded slightly as he heard the approving beep and ding of the register. "A little," he said, "Have a good day, Lori."

"I hope your day gets better Mr. Stronghold." Lori said back as he turned and went back outside. He went around the side of the station and back to pump three. He picked up the nozzle marked Regular, not really caring for Super Unleaded and proceeded to fill up his car. In a daze he watched the numbers shift on the little screen until they slowed down, reached $48.34 and abruptly stopped.

He pulled in a sigh as he replaced the nozzle and got back into his car, not bothering to go in for his change. He drove through the generally placid midday traffic in the city until he reached a parking garage beside a giant corporation building. He stopped at the booth and looked through the window glass at the guard.

The man smiled at Will and pressed a button for him. The arm across the lane lifted and the guard said, "Afternoon, Mr. Stronghold!"

Will responded with a tired nod and drove into the garage, right to his spot marked 'William T. Stronghold'. After parking he got out of his car, briefcase in tow. He locked his vehicle with the remote as he walked away and left the parking garage. He walked the short way to the hallway leading into the building. He went past the receptionist desk in the busy lobby. He gave a silent wave to the receptionists as they greeted him, "Hello, Mr. Stronghold!"

He entered the elevator and pressed the button for the 14th floor. He rode all the way up with no stops, entirely alone. And when the doors opened, he was greeted with a busy office hallway. He silently weaved through the people who all greeted him with "Hello" or "Good afternoon, Mr. Stronghold". Right up until he found a door marked 'William T. Stronghold' he'd nodded in response silently. He slipped into the large office, shutting the door behind him. He sighed and combed his fingers through his hair. He reached behind him and pulled the shade down over the glass. He went around, setting the briefcase on the desk as he sat down.

He took off his sunglasses and placed them down on the desk near a photo from high school. He paused, looking at it. In it, he, Layla, Magenta, Zack and Ethan were all standing around one person who was sitting at a lunch table. Will stared briefly into those dark eyes. He hardly recognized the smile that had been so rare, even back then. Even in the picture he looked a little annoyed. After all, they'd been crowding him during his lunch which he usually spent bent over an old comic or Motorcyclist magazine.

Will shook his head, grabbed the photo and slapped it facedown. He opened his briefcase and retrieved the files he'd been looking at the previous night before he'd left the house. He slipped out a pair of reading glasses as before he put his briefcase down on the floor. He slipped them on his nose and started pouring over the files with a pen in his hand and a studying look in his eyes.

He couldn't remember when his eyes had started to feel so weary after reading all of these contracts and files with their small, insignificant print. Maybe after the post-reading headaches? He didn't need his glasses when he was simply reading a book or a newspaper, not that he had time for that anymore. For some reason, it was only for papers at work that he needed them. The optometrist had just said that it was stress and maybe a possible development of hyperopia from all the strain.

Will hadn't been flipping through the files less than five minutes before he heard a knock on the door. He didn't want to, but he said, not looking up from the piles of papers, "Come in."

He heard the door creak open and the shade clack gently against the window. "Hey, Buddy."

Will sighed quietly at the old pet name his father had been calling him all of his life. He added his signature to line at the bottom of the paper he'd been scouring. He glanced over his glasses at his father, "Hi, Dad."

Will's father was dressed in a neat business suit; graying hair combed neatly, wrinkles creasing his face handsomely, glasses perched humbly on his noble nose, and eyes lighthearted but subtly concerned. He smiled a little. Morbidly. Apologetically.

The aging hero closed the door behind him. "Saw the news this morning."

"Oh did you?" Will murmured, flipped the page in a packet agreement document and lowered his eyebrows in concentration at the small print.

Steve Stronghold walked steadily up to the desk. He knew his son was hurting. The moment he'd woken up early, and watched the news, he knew that Will was most likely going to be in late to work today. He knew Will was going to have an at-world's-end look in his eyes, dead and hopeless, but trying to pull through the day. And he felt terrible about it.

And it wasn't only Steve. Josie had talked to him about it. Layla had come to them with her concerns about it. Ethan had phoned Steve a couple of times. Zack had even come over one night, without anyone in his company. He'd been morose and talkative as he and Steve had shared a couple of beers. He talked about how Will just was becoming so reclusive, which was an impressive word for the bleach blonde young man. He talked about how worried he and Magenta were for Will.

The young Stronghold was folding inside of himself it seemed. He was becoming quieter in a crowded room where he would usually smile brightly and mingle with everyone he possibly could. He was prone to avert his gaze when someone tried to meet it. There were shadows and discoloration under and around his son's eyes. There was a growing gauntness to his face that was slowly becoming a bit more noticeable. And it was getting worse every time Will had to face his archenemy.

Steve tucked his hands into his pockets and finally asked, "How are you?"

Will paused in his work. Then he looked up at his father. Steve winced. His son's eyes _were_ almost dead, and reddish-yellow bruises ringed his eyes. He wondered briefly how much sleep the young man had gotten.

Will blinked up at him, "I'm fine, Dad."

Steve shook his head and sat down in the chair across from his son's desk. "Goddamnit, Will. You're not yourself."

Will took off his glasses and said, "Just let me forget about it will you? 'Will, you're becoming an introvert and it concerns me.' 'Will, dude, you're like, reclusive man.' 'Will, you haven't been yourself.' 'Will, you're not answering my calls.' _Will_ all of you just let it go? I'm trying to work."

Steve, being the big boss of this corporation, never let anyone talk to him like that. But this was his son. His son behind closed doors. His son withdrawing from stress, anxiety, depression and plenty of other emotional agony.

But Steve remained calm. "You seem to be the one not letting it go. Look at yourself."

Will ground his teeth. "_Dad_…you think I don't look in the mirror every damn night I come home covered in rubble, ashes and innocent blood?" He tossed his glasses and his pen onto his desk. "I can see what's happening to me every time I catch my reflection. And I'm trying to _just_ carry on each day." He stood up forcefully. "So _what_ am I supposed to do?!"

Steve ran a hand through his hair uncomfortably. And then he looked up at his son, "I think you should call me when you need help. I think maybe you should let your friends and your family back in because going this alone is _not_ going to help you. Your mother's got a degree in psychology, she could,"

"Please, leave me alone," Will said, sitting back down.

"Will, just," Steve started.

"_Dad! Drop it! Just let me work for fuck's sake!_" Will yelled, slamming his palm down on the desk, making it creak in pain.

A vein pulsed in Steve's forehead and his jaw clenched. He remembered what his wife had told him when she'd come scurrying into his office, telling him that Will had come in. Telling him that he needed to talk to him. Telling him that he couldn't get angry no matter what Will said because he wasn't himself.

He stood silently from the chair and turned his back on Will. He stepped to the door and opened it. He said over his shoulder, "When you need to talk, you know we're all here for you, Buddy."

Will shook his head when the door closed behind his father. He looked down at the papers he'd been working on before his father came in. He reached up and rubbed at his tired eyes. No matter how much he most likely needed to talk about it, he really didn't want to. He didn't want to think about it. And according to the pain starting to light up in his right hip, his father had gotten him to think about it.

He seized his right hip in one hand, pressed his forehead into the papers with a pained groan. He yelled out, gripping the desk with his free hand. He clenched his teeth together and ground out a wounded yell. His hip burned with unbelievable agony. He fought back his mind and the pain. And it took him about five minutes of stifled yelling and growling to imprison all of it away.

He lifted his forehead from his desk, and pressed a hand to his face, the other still nursing his hip. He rubbed at his face, shuddering, brushing the tears from his eyes. He jumped with a cry when the telephone rang. He brushed his messy hair back and reached for the phone. He held it up to his ear and grunted, "What, Sharryl?"

"Um…Sorry to bother you, Mr. Stronghold. But you have a call on line two. From a Mister Keith Moore?" A woman said nervously. Will's heart froze. He licked his lips and swallowed. "Patch him through." He said clearly.

"Yes, Sir. One moment." The receptionist said. He heard a click and he waited. The seconds ticked by and he thought that his heart was actually going to burst from his chest. And then he heard another click.

He swallowed again and said quietly, "Hello?"

There was a pause on the other end. Complete silence. Will couldn't even hear breathing. He strained his ears, listening. A stab of shock found him when he heard a low, husky voice say, "Aspen Hotel. Room 518. 11:30." Then he heard another click, and a dial tone.

* * *

The young man stood against the counter in the lobby of the Aspen Hotel. His name tag read 'Adrian'. He stood there wondering why he had accepted the promotion and had agreed to take the night shift. Sure, he got paid more to work nights, and technically he was awake anyways…He couldn't sleep at night for some reason. But he could sleep through the day like a drooling baby in a diabetic coma! But he wasn't sure if he liked the night shift in a hotel.

Surprisingly there was almost as much action around the hotel as during the day. There was a business man from Canada sitting over on a couch with his legs crossed, reading a newspaper while the widescreen played Sports Center. There was a trim man in the pool a few hallways down. And he knew there were a couple of teenagers on a school trip to Washington D.C. in the game room playing pinball while their classmates and chaperones slept.

So shouldn't he be relieved that there were other people like him who just couldn't sleep at night and spent the darkness awake and alive? Sure. But then again, there were some weird people who dwelled the night. Not two minutes ago, he'd rented a room to what seemed to be a forty-seven year old man in the company of a skimpily dressed eighteen year old girl. Adrian had grimaced as he'd handed over the key to a room and told them to enjoy their stay.

There was plenty of traffic that he placed in the category of "Cheaters". But there were even more disturbing people. Earlier on, a filthy woman, obviously high on something had come in and tried to sleep on the couch. According to his superiors, that was not allowed. After he confirmed that she wasn't a guest, he had to ask her to leave. And her dilated eyes were unfocused and twitchy as she glared at him, finally leaving when he said he would have to call the police if she didn't leave.

There were people walking by outside, occasionally glancing in with their creepy stares. And the Adrian stood there leaning against the counter that the night was a completely different world. It had its population of seemingly "_Normal_" people, but it had its fair share of weirdos.

Adrian glanced at his watch and saw that it was just about half past eleven. The night had barely begun. He knew he'd have several more hours of watching these creatures of the night slink around. He turned his head back to the front door when he heard a little wind enter the room; disturbing the Canadian businessman's paper reading as the breeze fluttered through his newspaper.

An average height young man pushed through the door, wearing a suit jacket and pants with a gray button down, slightly mussed brown hair and _sunglasses_. Something about him just made Adrian feel depressed and a bit edgy. He looked like hell. And something told Adrian that the eyes behind the dark shades of his sunglasses were either bloodshot, bruised or something like that. Then the man came up to the counter.

"Key for 518," the depressing young man grumbled.

"Name please?" Adrian responded, pulling his book toward him.

"Moore." Came the grunt.

Adrian ran his finger along the names and found the one beside Room 518. "Mister Keith Moore?" The depressing man grunted in response.

Adrian turned and slipped the keycard from the 518 cubby and held it across the counter toward the Mister Keith Moore. And Moore took it grudgingly without even muttering a thank you. He turned away, tucking his hand in his pocket as he headed up the stairs. Adrian waited until he couldn't hear the footsteps anymore and sighed, "Goodnight to you too, Sir."

* * *

Will climbed the small curving stairs to get to the first floor. Just as he made it to the top, a tall, trim-muscled man pushed open one of the various doors. His thick red hair was wet, dripping swim trunks and he had a beach towel around his shoulders. He looked at Will briefly with a green-eyed look and a nod. Will nodded back, still walking to the elevator. He heard the man's flip flops squish and squelch as he followed after him. Will stopped in front of the elevator and pressed the up button. The soaked man stood beside him, patiently waiting for the elevator to make its way down wherever it had paused last.

The stranger said quietly, making light conversation with a southern accent, "First hotel pool I swum in that don't taste like stale piss." Will nodded slightly, keeping his gaze looking at the elevator doors through his sunglasses.

The redhead glanced at Will, and back at the elevator when it dinged and the doors slid open. As they stepped inside the metal box, he said, "Feel like I seen you someplace."

Will pressed the button for the 5th floor and the southern man pressed the button for the 7th floor. Will turned his head slightly, looking at the swimmer from behind his sunglasses. They turned and faced the doors together as they closed. Will studied the man briefly up and down and shook his head, looking back to the elevator doors, "I've never seen you before in my life."

The stranger seemed puzzled and patted his swim trunk-ed thigh as the elevator started to move upward. "I'd swear…"

Will looked up at the number over the elevator doors and watched as it changed from 1…to 2…to 3…and stopped.

The two men stepped apart as the doors open. A woman in a red cocktail dress was giving a man with curly black hair a thorough kiss. She pulled away, smiled and said, "G'night."

"Night," he said with a wider smile as she stepped into the elevator with her black heels in her hand. "4th floor please," she said as the doors slid closed. The swimmer pressed the button for the 4th floor and then snapped his fingers. "Hell, now I remember. I seen yer face on a bench. Yer Stronghold. The kid who's in big business with his pa. _Now_ I got it."

The woman looked at Will. "You're the son of the biggest real estate tycoon in the city?" The woman said with a smile. "Pleasure to meet you!"

Will grunted in response. Then the elevator dinged and the doors opened up. The lady stepped out of the elevator barefoot and gave a little wave, "Nice meeting you." Will didn't respond to her farewell as the swimmer pressed the button for the doors to close.

"Ya ain't much talkative or polite are ya?" The stranger asked.

Something struck an ominous chord inside of Will. He cocked an eyebrow over his sunglasses and turned his head slightly to look at the southern man. "It's 11:30 at night, I got in a heated fight with my father and boss, I've been working up until half an hour ago, last night I endured what can be only put as physical and emotional torture, I haven't slept well in the past twenty-four hours, and I am _exhausted…_please _do_ forgive me if I'm a bit cranky." He growled, glaring at the taller man through his sunglasses. "So why don't you go to your room, hit the mini fridge and pour yourself a big glass of Mind Your Own Business and mix it with Fuck Off."

The elevator dinged and stopped on the 5th floor. Will grudgingly stepped through the opening doors and stalked down the hallway. He heard the elevator doors slide closed as he slinked down the hallway. Now that he was alone again, his nerves were curling around inside of him. His stomach twisted. His heart pounded hard against his ribs like tribal drums. His mouth went dry. And his right hip _burned_.

He walked to the end of the hallway, and hesitated when he saw the large black numbers on the door facing him.

518

He clenched the cardkey in his pocket and licked his lips. How many times had he done this before? How many different hotels had he found himself in at a late hour of the night? How many times had he hesitated before fitting the key or keycard to the locked door?

_Lost count,_ Will thought as he slipped the cardkey into the lock. He heard an approving beep and a click. He closed his eyes, suddenly very awake. Then he turned the doorknob and pushed the door slowly in. He swallowed and opened his eyes. But the room was empty.

Directly to the right was a bathroom. And just past the bathroom the room opened up to allow a desk, a small fridge, a coffee maker, two nightstands with a lit lamp and digital alarm clock on each, a dresser, a wardrobe, and a queen-sized bed with white bedding and a tall pale headboard. And to Will's left there was a coat rack where an aged leather jacket hung.

Will studied the worn leather. He pressed his lips together in a tight line. His gaze traveled down the jacket and to the floor where a pair of black boots sat. Will pushed a hand through his hair, and toed off his shoes beside the boots. He cracked his bare toes against the carpet and looked back around the room.

There were long curtains flowing gently in the breeze on the opposite wall of the room. And through them he could see a dark figure.

Will looked to the floor and turned. He closed the door behind him and locked it. He heard a quiet chuckle from behind the curtains. Will waited a moment before turning back to face the room. Slowly a long-fingered hand reached through the curtains and brushed them to one side.

Will looked directly into obsidian eyes that had once been the richest color of chocolate. They reflected away the light from the room almost cruelly. The long dark, dark hair hung about his face, a blood red streak crossing his eye at one point in the gentle breeze. His lips were a slight frown, still and carved as if from stone as a side of them turned up lightly. The black shirt clung to his chiseled body, leaving his arms bare and sleeveless. The black flame tattoos around his wrists traveled up his forearms, lining his veins. A few holes were worn in his jeans, some a little burnt or bloodstained. And he was barefoot.

The tall, dark man stepped slowly across the room. Will looked briefly to the carpet, away from those penetrating, harsh eyes. He felt the extreme warmth of his closeness. His nostrils breathed in his scent of sulfur fire, blood smoke, and leathery death. Heated fingers brushed against his temples as they lifted his sunglasses from his face. He heard them drop softly to the floor.

"Look at me." Came the deep, husky voice. Almost a hiss, but so quiet and sensual.

Will looked slowly up from the floor and into those blazing, black eyes. They studied him with a predatory manner. He felt the big hands touch either side of his neck and Will pulled in a gasp at the intense heat of his palms. One hand slipped around behind his neck and the other traveled down the front of his chest. Will let himself be pulled forward, his eyes sinking closed as if he were helpless, vulnerable prey, accepting his fate at the jaws of his predator.

He felt hot breath against his lips before he was consumed by it. His mouth was captured gently in a fiery kiss that burned his lips and sent a wave of pleasure through his body. His back was pressed up hard against the door, and he moaned in his throat. He gasped when a scorching tongue pressed its way into his mouth. It tasted like the tempting, orgasmic taste of the forbidden fruit. Like darkness. Like blood. Like evil.

A hand fisted in his hair and he groaned, his lips separating from the fire, freeing him temporarily. "Ah…_Warren_…" He whispered breathlessly. He felt his suit jacket fall down from his shoulders and heard it crumple to the floor.

He heard a growl and the front of his shirt was seized. Will rasped out a cry when he was forced across the room and thrown into the bed. But immediately…_he_ was covering him…_Warren_ was covering him.

The pyro snatched Will's lower lip between his teeth, biting down and sucking on the blood that seeped from the fresh cut. Will squirmed beneath him, uncomfortable in his clothes. "_Warren_…oh, _god_!" his muscles tensed when a sweltering hand grabbed the crotch of his pants. He flinched, squeezing his eyes shut with a groan. Fiery lips trailed along the vein in his neck, a scorching tongue brushing against his pulse.

The grasping, heated hand rubbed at Will's penis, forcibly raising pleasure in him from what felt like the fires of the most evil corner of Hell. It was such a wrongness that was kidnapping his soul but at the same time becoming the only thing that would allow him to survive.

The fiery lips left his neck and hot fingers touched the collar of his shirt. Will tilted his head back into the hotel bed and let out a moan as one hand still rubbed and clutched his aching erection through his clothes. The fingers pulled loose the button at his shirt collar. And then the next one down, and the next one down… He shuddered as Warren pulled the opened shirt from his pants.

Will swallowed to wet his dry throat.

Warren pulled him up by the back up his neck, and slipped the gray button down from his shoulders. Will pulled his wrists free from the cuffs, shoving the shirt away from him. He reached to touch this creature he knew to be so dark and untamable like raging forest fire, wiping out everything in its path. Warren tilted his head slightly, black eyes watching Will.

Will kept his eyes to Warren's body, lifting the hem of his shirt from his waist. The pyro lifted his tattooed arms, allowing Will to pull it from his body and toss it aside. The naked, heated skin was familiar to Will. He recognized the raven black veins blazing very noticeably beneath his skin, and knew that they hadn't always been that way.

Warren gave an impatient growl, shoving Will back down to the bed. He tugged loose his belt, undid the button and pulled down the zipper of his pants. And with a birdlike sweep, Warren was off of the bed, tossing Will's pants and boxers to the floor leaving the smaller man entirely naked on the bed. Will curled slightly, his hand consciously moving to cover his right hip. And then Warren smirked. Will once knew Warren to smirk like that, but years ago it didn't feel so cold.

The pyro reached to the waistband of his worn jeans, undid them and stepped out of them when they hit the floor. He climbed back onto the bed, grasping Will's right wrist. Will winced as his hand was moved away from his hip, revealing a flame-shaped black scar tattoo. It burned and Will squeezed his eyes shut. He heard Warren chuckle darkly, and then felt the sweltering heat of his tongue as it licked the black scar.

Will screamed out in agony. Black fire arose from the mark, destroying the healing tissues. The fire faded, leaving Will panting in pain. The scar was now a fresh, black, flame-shaped bloodless, cauterized wound. Will turned his head another way with a whimper, the ache lessening. Warren's blistering, furnace of a body lay over Will's.

Will flinched with a grunt when Warren's heated erection rubbed against his. He whimpered again when Warren's mouth captured his, and his tongue burned against his lip. Will leaned upward into the kiss, clutching at Warren's sides. Sweat trickled down his temple as he moved his mouth with the pyro's.

He was lying with his archenemy. Danger was at its peak. He knew that this kiss could be the deadliest threat to him. With a breath of black fire into Will's mouth, he knew that his lungs could collapse and he would suffocate. With a pair of black flaming claws his body could be ripped to pieces. Or just maybe he could be reduced to ashes on the gentle breeze that lifted the curtains.

Warren left a fiery trail down Will's neck to his shoulder with his lips. Will cried out when the pyro's teeth sunk sharply into his shoulder. He pulled in a gasp and choked out a moan, holding tightly onto Warren when he ground his cock into Will's. The rawness of the heat and friction sent dark spots dancing across his eyes.

Then Will's throat was seized. The hot fingers pressed against his windpipe and a sweltering painful kiss took away his breath. Another scorching hand glided down his chest, touched his stomach and then wrapped around Will's hard, throbbing erection. Will gasped for a breath through his nostrils as the hand stroked up and down his length.

Abruptly Will was flipped onto his stomach, his throat now free, allowing him to suck in air. His legs were yanked apart behind him. And instantly, he felt the firebird pressing himself inside of him.

Will shut his eyes, and clenched the white blankets of the bed with a moan. He knew this feeling. He had felt this many times. And even if each time felt like the first time all over again, he remembered it always. It would be impossible to forget what it felt like when a man with black fire burning through his veins and clouding his eyes fucked him with a cock which had its own intense heat that could easily burn another human being from the inside out on its own.

Will opened his eyes and for a moment he laughed at the thought of Warren killing people with his _manhood_. Perhaps it was sexual delirium and the pleasure that made it seem funny. Warren growled, grabbed the back of his neck and pressed his face into the bed, starting to thrust in and out of him. That made the amusement go away and for a second Will thought that Warren might actually find amusement and pleasure in killing people with his _manhood_.

He was tugged away from his thoughts when Warren's fingers clasped Will's right hip. Will winced with a pained cry. Warren's hand slipped around Will's stomach, holding him still as he thrust into him. The nerves twisted throughout his body were only aware of the pleasurable agony he was in. He could only feel Warren inside of him, his penis dragging against nerves that hadn't been alive for nearly a month. He gasped as cloudy air slipped through his head and dark spots speckled his vision when Warren thrust hard against Will's prostate.

Will's hair was seized and he was turned onto his back without Warren's erection ever leaving his insides. The pyro threw the smaller man's legs over his shoulders. Will moaned at the deepness of the new angle and position. The firebird leaned down, sucked Will's lower lip into his mouth and grazed his teeth across the previously bleeding bite. His thrusting hips ground against Will's backside. He felt a weight gradually increasing upon him.

Warren pulled Will's legs higher over his shoulders, dragging Will's body closer to him. The smaller man's arms were raised above him, hands clenching the bedding. His uncut hair was splayed out and mussed. He dropped open his mouth in a pleasured moan. He bared his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut and groaning.

Above him he could _hear_ the pyro grunting quietly every other thunderous thrust. He heard _Warren_ breathe in deeply, his muscles twitching. He heard _Warren's_ teeth grind together. And he heard _Warren_ growl.

Again he was moved. This time he was abruptly brought up into the air, Warren now beneath him. And he was sitting heavily down on Warren's scorching cock. Will shuddered with a whimper at the depth at which the pyro was at now. He pressed his palms to Warren's chest to keep himself upright. He licked his lips and swallowed, grinding out a moan as Warren thrust up into him. The big, blistering hands took hold of Will's hips, and raised him up and down in an opposite rhythm with his thrusting hips. Up he lifted Will, down he lowered his hips. Down he pulled Will, and up he thrust his hips.

It was a chaotic rhythm and beat of some sort of metronome or clock in the private world in which the virtuous willingly give in to the wicked. The upside-down place where the bad guy screwed the good guy and the good guy loved it. The screwed up dimension where the angel falls in love with the demon. The fucked up realm where sons of dark and light mix when they really, _really_ shouldn't.

Will hung his head, and opened his eyes. Through his hair he looked down at Warren. His eyes trailed along the black veins that showed through his skin. They spread out like an ominous, dark spider web. Warren was at the same time the venomous spider and the victim wrapped up by it. His eyes traveled up to his face.

The pyro's eyes were gently closed, eyebrows lightly furrowed. His lips were ever so slightly apart as he breathed in and out. Then the obsidian eyes opened and looked up at Will; and quite possibly right through him. Will gasped as another thrust ground against his prostate, lighting up his vision with hazy darkness. His stomach felt empty and yet at the same time completely full of Warren. He felt heavy and stiff, hardly able to move.

Warren grasped Will's dick and stroked firmly down and up. Will cried out, shivering as heat misted through his muscles. And suddenly the smaller man was on his back once again, his legs being wrapped firmly around the pyro's waist. His wrists were seized and pinned to the mattress above his head in one large hand. Warren's chest pressed firmly down against Will's, still thrusting into him and out of him.

Will's muscles were clenched and in a painful state, weight heavy upon his body. He felt like he was being pressed to death and it wasn't the weight of Warren lying upon him. His penis was being thoroughly and quickly pumped. The pyro's hair tickled either side of Will's face and his mouth was assaulted by Warren's steaming lips. His blazing tongue traced his lips, and danced with his tongue in a dance of fiery dominance and quivering submission.

Will's eyes squeezed shut and his head ground back into the mattress as his heart threw itself against his ribs, the weight dropping down on him, a fiery feeling overtaking his stomach. He yelled out Warren's name when the burden quite suddenly was lifted from his body and the firebird's hand was slicked with his orgasm. Will felt as if he was floating upward into the air.

A growl echoed in his ears as he was lifted high above his body. And he was brought swiftly back down when white hot fluid coated his insides, making his entire body quiver and tremble, and his lungs let out a scream. He swore he'd felt himself come again, but he wasn't sure as darkness twirled about in front of his half-open eyes.

For a moment, it felt like he had lost about half of his senses. As if he were hearing with cups placed over his ears, quieting and muffling everything. As if his mouth had become so dry that his taste buds had died from thirst. As if his eyes had been covered with dark silk. As if his body had become numb after lying on the cold sand on the beaches of Cape Cod in early March.

Slowly, he came back around. He was a little surprised to find that he was now lying on top of Warren with his head tucked under the pyro's chin. He felt Warren's fingers combing affectionately through Will's uncut hair. He felt his other arm wrapped firmly around Will's body, keeping him pressed to Warren's body.

It was still and silent now, aside from the slow dancing curtains across the room. Will closed his eyes. He listened to Warren's heartbeat. He thought he could almost hear the fires burning through his veins. He sighed quietly and tiredly through his nostrils. He frowned. His eyes felt wet. When he touched them, there were tears.

As tears seeped from his eyes, he thought about when Warren's eyes had been the most wonderful shade of dark chocolate. He thought about how he had once smelled like the most rustic, spicy campfire and leather. He thought about how the tattoos on his arms had been smaller, less menacing, red, orange and yellow. He thought about how his arms had lit up with blazing, red orange fire when he powered up. He thought about his amused smirk that had never had an ounce of darkness in it.

He murmured, "Why can't you be good?"

There was silence. But for only a moment.

Before he could comprehend, he was up against the wall, held in the air by his throat in a black-flamed claw. Black eyes glared coldly into his. Black flames licked the air above his shoulders.

"Because being powerful feels good. Destruction feels good. _Killing_ feels good." Warren hissed, "Because being this way…feels very, _very_ good."

Will was thrown down to the floor where his throat was seized again. His hair was clenched cruelly and he was forced to look into those obsidian eyes.

"In fact, I doubt if I've ever felt better in my entire life, Will. I suppose I have what you might call a sick, sadistic need to see suffering and death. I guess I _am_ my father's son…I even killed my own father just like he did with his." Warren chuckled, his hand traveling down to Will's right hip. "Or maybe…I just _really_ enjoy this game that we've been playing for the past couple of years. No matter what I do, you can't seem to kill me. And no matter what you do, I can't seem to just kill you because losing this…_amusement_ would lead to intense boredom and a devastating case of blue balls."

Will screamed out in pain as black fire rose up from the flame-shaped wound in his side. Warren leaned down close to Will's ear. The fire burned excruciatingly. Will squirmed in Warren's grasp. He felt Warren's hot breath against his ear and he heard him whisper, "And I doubt if this game is _ever_ going to end, Will. I'll never let this mark heal. You're _mine_. Anyone who sees this mark will know it. You are _mine_ and _only_ mine. _Forever_."

Will sucked in a clear breath when his throat was freed. He slowly rolled onto his side, clutching his pained side, groaning, trembling and quietly sobbing.

Across the room, by the door, Warren pulled on his boots after having replaced his jeans and shirt. He stood up straight and lifted his leather jacket that had once been his father's from the rack. He slipped his arms into it and fixed the collar, walking back through the hotel room.

He paused and looked down at the smaller man.

Those blue eyes looked up at him, filled with hurt.

And Warren smirked down at Will. _His_ Will.

Then he lifted his gaze, and stepped through the curtains onto the small, pathetic excuse for a balcony. He stepped up onto the railing, looking out at Maxville, engulfed in night. Then he jumped, and plunged down through the air. Black fire bloomed from his shoulders and caught the passing wind. He was lifted suddenly and the fiery, black wings gave a vigorous flap, lifting him back up two hundred feet. The wind of night combed through the Villain's hair as he flew away, leaving his Hero to fight against him another day.

Articles of _The_ _General_ _versus The_ _Black Phoenix_ would continue making the front page headlines of most of the city's newspapers as time moved on. The Villain, feeling more alive with every passing day, would continue killing. And the Hero, feeling more dead with every passing day, would continue saving. The two Supers would continue their endless limbo of fate, separated and yet so close forever as the sons of dark and light.


End file.
